


it hit me like projector lights

by jollypuppet



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-20
Updated: 2014-06-20
Packaged: 2018-02-05 10:09:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1814701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jollypuppet/pseuds/jollypuppet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe Stiles just doesn't want to waste an extra trip to the movies, maybe he's just bored, maybe Derek really does want to go to the movies with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	it hit me like projector lights

**Author's Note:**

> This is very short, but I was glad I got to write it all the same, I haven't written for this pairing in a while and I haven't plain _written_ in a while (thank you for being patient with me) so it feels good to get back in a groove.
> 
> [drowing-in-the-shadows](drowning-in-the-shadows.tumblr.com) prompted "sterek, first kiss"

When it happens, it's not nearly as spectacular or ground-shaking as Stiles expected it to be (not that he thought about it a lot, don't look at him like that.) It's just that... Derek's got this presence, this overwhelming feeling of  _this is something bigger than me_ , not necessarily greater or better, but much more vast than Stiles could ever know. Derek's carries himself like he's got the entire world sitting on his shoulders.

On the other hand, Derek's kind of a dick, so it balances out in the end. And also, he's hot. That works out, too.

Stiles is standing around in the middle of Derek's spacious apartment when it happens, just kind of musing on how the air smells musty and like it's been canned for twenty years in the back of a hot closet. He's thinking about mothballs when Derek sweeps through the living room, grumbling as he picks up one of Isaac's leftover sweatshirts and tosses it into the corner where the "Derek Hale's Apartment Is Not A Sweatshirt Depository" pile is growing.

"You know, the fastest way to get rid of those things would be to tell everyone you're bringing the unclaimed ones to the dump at the end of the week." He can feel his smile is lopsided on his own face, because there's a sudden primal fear of  _did I ever leave a sweatshirt here_. "They'll just flock, dude, trust me."

"As if I don't have Mystery Incorporated hanging around my place enough as it is. You know I got up in the middle of the night to get a glass of water and Lydia was painting her nails  _on my windowsill?_ " Derek scrubs a hand down his face, and he looks like he's in his late 50s and not his early 20s. "She scared me so bad that my claws ripped holes through my socks.  _Again_."

Stiles scoffs. "Dude, stop wearing socks."

There's orange sunlight filtering through Derek's large bay windows like streamers after a birthday party, and it makes his home seem so warm and inviting, for how quiet it seems now. Everyone's out around town doing their own thing, and Stiles suddenly feels very out of place. 

He and Derek had decided to go to the movies together, maybe a week before and after a couple of months of toeing around each other like lovesick preteens. If Stiles ever called them that in front of Derek, though, he'd most likely get his throat ripped out, but it was true -- Scott made fun of him for it a lot, too, how they'd unwittingly text each other late into the night, how they'd kind of perk up at the mention of the other's name, Stiles was sure of the attraction on his end but Derek was certainly a tougher case to crack. One time, Stiles made a joke and Derek had, like,  _kind of_ grinned.

But they had decided to go to the movies, by some weird twist of fate. Maybe it was just because they both really wanted to see  _Lakehouse Massacre 3_ and they were young and environmentally conscious and didn't want to waste the gas going separately, but Stiles was pretty sure that this might be a date. Maybe.

"Are we taking the Camaro or the Jeep?" Derek asks, fiddling with his keys, and Stiles knows how to tell when someone's itching to drive their own fancy, expensive, how-did-you-buy-this-your-house-burned-down car. He just kind of jerks his head and Derek pockets the keys with a slight, triumphant flourish of his wrist.

"Thanks for coming with me, by the way." Stiles says, suddenly, and he's not entirely sure why. He rubs his neck without thinking. "I mean, to the movies. I didn't really have anyone to hang out with and Scott and Allison are definitely snuggling somewhere and Lydia's probably got a date with some hot dude or that French girl from our Economics class, so... okay, sorry, that got weird. I'm kind of a loser."

"How are you a loser?" Derek asks, his brow furrowed. "Besides hanging out with the town hermit, is all. So you let your friends have their space, that's the kind of sensitivity I  _wish_  you guys had for me."

Stiles shrugs. "I dunno. I'm always just kind of the odd one out."

And that's when it happens. That's why it surprises him as much as it does, because he doesn't feel like he was saying anything terribly important, and to be fair, he was kind of in the middle of a self-loathing rant, so he's not expecting a hot guy in his twenties to just stride across the flat and put a finger under his chin and  _there it is_. Derek kisses him firmly, without suggestion but confidently, and it takes a second for Stiles to realize it's even happening. It's like he's wondering why his face suddenly feels nice, and then  _oh_.

"That makes two of us." Derek says and strides past him. "Lock the door." He calls, from halfway down the hallway.

Stiles grins and finally turns around, a bit of a jog in his step, and yells, "I'll buy the popcorn!"


End file.
